


we are star stuff

by ironcouer



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Adult life AU, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8425939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironcouer/pseuds/ironcouer
Summary: Jisoo loves the stars, and Seungcheol is a star in his life, and when those two facts interlap, it makes Jisoo happy to be himself.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acelli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acelli/gifts).



> EXCHANGE FIC HAPPENED! Thank you so much to Cat (allthatconfetti) for making this exchange fic happen. She really worked tirelessly and had to connect so many people with pairings they enjoyed. Thank you for all your hard work, we love you <3
> 
> For Amanda: I really hope you enjoy this fic! I love writing Cheolsoo and this fic was definitely a stretch for me. It changed so many times and I procrastinated so much but it finally exists. I love you very much and I hope you enjoy!

_“The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, the carbon in our apple pies were made in the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of starstuff.” –Carl Sagan_

Jisoo jingles with the door, Seungcheol hopping up from the couch to help him unlock it. “Thanks,” he says, slipping out of his grimy shoes and slipping into the slippers he keeps by the door. “How was work? Seungcheol asks, and Jisoo interrupts his questions to kiss him. It tingles, a vague burning heat sensation spreading through his lips and burning down his philtrum and up to the base of his nose. It feels good.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” Seungcheol says, smiling.

“Get used to what?” Jisoo asks, getting up to make himself a cup of tea. Seungcheol follows him into the kitchen, leaning against the chipping doorjamb and gazing at Jisoo with a look; he can’t categorize it, but it’s halfway between affection and adoration. From anyone else it would feel fake, cheesy, unwelcome, but Jisoo eats it up. He hugs Seungcheol while his water comes to a boil, and kisses his lips again. He takes advantage of Seungcheol’s affection when he can get it, and right now Seungcheol is adoring and pliable and Jisoo is energized by the way he kisses him back, lightly but with an intention underneath it, and intention to convey his love, and it’s one of Jisoo’s favorite things about him.

“Is that what stars taste like?” Seungcheol asks, and Jisoo smiles, like it was a special surprise he was saving for a Thursday afternoon. Seungcheol is still learning what’s appropriate to say about stars, and Jisoo applauds his efforts. He thinks he says things wrong, because he’s curious, but everything he says comes out shining, the way Seungcheol has always been genuine and kind, curious and eager to learn.

“No, that’s just what I taste like. Does it taste good?”

Seungcheol smiles, and Jisoo is pleased.

“Like heaven.”

*  
Seungcheol is Jisoo’s neighbor. They meet every day, crossing paths from work, Seungcheol trudging back from an hour long commute when Jisoo takes his nightly walk. Jisoo ducks his head and smiles, not necessarily making eye contact, and Seungcheol’s smile blinds him. One day, he promises, he’ll knocked on apartment 6C and ask his name, what he does for a living, covertly slip into conversation that his smile is the highlight of his long day. But for a time, all he does is smile. He shakes his spirit for being so quiet, so still, for not seeking something he wants, but the sparkle in Seungcheol’s eyes make him curious and nervous in equal measures. For now, his nervousness wins out, and he continues with his nightly walk.

He finds the area he goes to every night, his favorite park. It’s a good routine he has: wake up, work, go to the park. It stretches his muscles in an oddly mental way, and he settles into his stance, cross legged, sitting far enough away from the tree so as to not cause any damage but close enough he’s still covered.

He looks around and ducks under a tree, which gives way to a larger clearing that has always shadowed him well. He’s prepared to start at any time, because sometimes it hits him unawares and can become painful. The initial jolt of energy that spreads through his body is strong. It reminds him of the strength of the universe, keeps him from playing with nature. He steels himself in anticipation.

He knows the shine will give it away, but he hopes it’s chalked up to a flashlight. So far, no one asks. He sits far from the beaten path, and channels the stars between his fingertips. It’s energizing, empties his mind. So far, he doesn’t know if running the heat through his veins can heal him, or make him younger, but it makes him feel more alive, and purposeful. He’s never known anyone like this. He doesn’t feel like he can ask questions, so all he does is focus inward, on how it makes him feel and the ways that he loves everything about his life at the very moment that fire rushes through his veins and burns him. Maybe it’s all for nothing, this pointlessly beautiful thing, but it still feels perfect.  
At the back of his mind, he thinks that one day, he’ll be caught. It feels like nights when he’s gotten drunk in his room, alone, finishing off the last drops from an empty bottle. His brain faintly whispers dull wisdom into his mind, but it’s overpowered and his joy takes over. Being a vessel for stars is a lot like that.

*

The first time Jisoo talks to Seungcheol, he barely has the courage to look him in the eye before he’s hearing a voice speak to him.

Seungcheol speaks first, and it prods him in a way, makes his adrenaline spike, his words like another star icy hot in his veins. If he’d known how good it felt to talk to Seungcheol, he would have done it a long time ago, but he doesn’t have room for regret when Seungcheol is eagerly smiling at him like that.

“So, how long before I learn your name and stop referring to you as beautiful neighbor boy in my mind?” Jisoo is literally on another plane of redness.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I kinda like being referred to as beautiful neighbor boy. Has a nice ring to it.”

Seungcheol laughs, and Jisoo commits it to memory. “But a little long, right? I’d be able to think about so much else if I could shorten it to your actual name, couldn’t I?”

Jisoo smiles, and it’s so wide it hurts. “I’m Jisoo.”

“I’m Seungcheol,” he says. “You should come over for dinner one night. I make a really mean paella.”

Jisoo has always told himself to not daydream when talking to another person, getting distracted is definitely rude, but he’s imagining what Seungcheol looks like cooking and it’s hard to stay focused.

Jisoo nods. “I might as well. I mean, you do know where I live.” He’s cool, collected, decidedly calm, anything but burning from the inside out.

Seungcheol smiles, but it’s more of a smirk. Jisoo’s limbs are really threatening to give out on him.

“Don’t feel forced. I would just love to say more than an average of three words to you on any given evening.”

Jisoo is almost airborne. Seungcheol is most likely exhausted from work, from the city, from life, but he’s talking like he has endless energy and Jisoo can only imagine when Seungcheol’s not distracted, when he has his full attention, and he’s really unable to imagine it without getting butterflies and anything else that smacks of embarrassing. He keeps his reply short, to minimize on the corny. “More than three words sounds perfect.”

*

Jisoo hates referring to what he does as a “gift.” It feels fake and cheesy and doesn’t at all represent how he feels every time it happens. Jisoo feels a magnetic pulse and suddenly, an enormous heat is filling his entire body and he doesn’t know, but there are stars in his body and all around him, within and without, and it’s close to overpowering him, but it doesn’t. Right before that brink, that flash where he thinks it’s all over, he’s going to cease, it ends just as suddenly as it began.

He was young when it first happened, when he felt the pull between the sky and him, and he was foolish and thought that he could make the stars do anything. It’s less of a gift and more of a choosing, like a lucky lottery ticket. Jisoo doesn’t think it makes him better, or worse, or more special. He’s just lucky that the stars chose him.

Jisoo grew up after that, learned to know when the stars were close, channeling the power and heat energy and not being caught by surprise. The whole process is nerve wracking but beautiful. Jisoo has never known why or how it happens, why he isn’t burning up like a planetary sun. There’s an awe in him every time he feels the sear when the first beam slips under his skin, like the stars remind him of all they can do, but they’re trusting him, so they leave only a faint burn as a reminder.

It’s hard to visualize and explain, even though it’s rare for him to simply breathe into words, I eat stars. It faintly registers into his mind that this is not normal, not scientifically  
possible, but it burns him down to think about things like that, so he pushes it out and instead remembers how it feels to hold fire inside his chest cavity. When he thinks about how lucky he is to feel the wonder of the universe inside his frame, he ignores the facts and realizes that this, this reality, is better than knowing exactly why it happens, and he’s satiated from his curiosity when the last burning embers evaporate from his dermis.

*

Jisoo breathes in and out. It’s a date. He’s done dates. He can do dates. He counts his breath and lets it guide him into some sense of relaxation, but it’s quickly over when he thinks about Seungcheol in his office outfit with a collared shirt pressed within an inch of its life, and slacks, and he’s right back to where he started.

He knocks on Seungcheol’s door, steps from his own, and Seungcheol answers the door in a sweater and jeans, and Jisoo swears to god he would have preferred well fitted oxford collars, because at least he doesn’t feel like snuggling into a collar right now.

Seungcheol’s smile makes him forget, momentarily, his nauseous anxiety and he steps back for Jisoo to step forward. “Thanks so much for coming over, Jisoo.” Seungcheol starts truly babbling, talking nonsense about traffic and honking and New York drivers and then he sighs. “I’m sorry. I’m really nervous. I—you look beautiful.”

Jisoo can’t tell which electrifies him more—fire plasma that flows through every vein and sets his blood ablaze, or the way that Seungcheol looks at him—like he’s a treasure, like he’s gold.

Jisoo giggles and bows his head, and looks up. “You’re an enigma, Seungcheol. You’re so full of this confidence, but you’re blushing. It’s nice.”

Seungcheol smiles. “Come in, Jisoo.”

Jisoo suddenly feels anxiety engulf his body, but it all fades when Seungcheol leads him into the kitchen and suddenly they’re talking and laughing and Jisoo wonders if it’s really possible to feel like you’ve known someone your entire life. He’s glad they moved past the three word stage.

“So,” Seungcheol starts, picking at remnants of fish on his plate. “I want to know what you’re thinking, so I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. I can’t believe we’re so compatible, and all  
it took was walking past each other at least 300 times before we got to this. Your turn.”

Jisoo smiles, in shock by how warm he feels and how really simple words turn into this heat at the top of his head. “Is it bad if I say ditto?”

Seungcheol laughs, and it’s better than music. It’s violin. “Yes, Jisoo, that’s bad,” but there’s no malice in his voice, just beauty.

“I promise I have better words. I can do words.”

Seungcheol barks out a laugh, but not in a bad way. “Show me your words, then.”

“I think you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met, and I think I can know that just from this, just from you for a few hours, and I’m really happy to be here, with you. I don’t think it would matter where I was, being with you is really good. I’d like to try out another location though, just to test the theory. Does a date sound good? The second date?”

Seungcheol smiles with his lips closed, and it’s just as breathtaking. “You’re really good with words.”

“Why don’t you show me how good you are with words too?”

“How about yes, I can’t wait for our second date? Are those good words too?”

Jisoo giggles, and it sounds foreign in his ears, but he likes the sound. He sounds happy. “Yeah, good words.”

Seungcheol reaches over to hold his hand, and it’s cheesy. There’s a lot about Seungcheol that’s cheesy, like how he has candles lit but his overhead light is on, how he made  
Jisoo wear a napkin over his shirt so it wouldn’t get dirty, how he holds Jisoo’s hand like they’re in public and he’s trying to show him off. It doesn’t matter, though, because the candles and lights make sure nothing is dark, that everything is bright and warm and happy, and Jisoo likes that. He did accidentally dribble a red sauce down his chin, and nothing got on his favorite sweater, and even though there’s no one here to see it, Jisoo loves the way Seungcheol’s hand feels in his own. It’s slightly bigger, but the warmth is perfect, and he loves the way Seungcheol smiles at him when he holds back, or squeezes, or is reciprocal. It’s worth it. Seungcheol convinces Jisoo, maybe there’s not much wrong with cheesy. Maybe it’s just nice to just be present, and here, and when Seungcheol kisses his cheek, and red blossoms, and Seungcheol laughs at how easy Jisoo blushes, Jisoo thinks he can do cheesy.

*

After his first date with Seungcheol, and everything is left in a weird ambient place, Jisoo thinks about him when he goes out at night. He thinks about him a lot, but his week is busy. He has forms to fill out and papers to write and every time his boss puts a new order on his desk, he’s forced to compartmentalize and do what needs to be done but stars have become for Seungcheol.

Whenever it had happened before, the action, the motion, the flow, it was a chance for his brain to be devoid of action or thought. It was easier, letting his body do work and his mind be blank, but it’s all different now. It seems like his thoughts of Seungcheol guide the stars. When he wonders what Seungcheol is doing, his head feels heavy with heat, the front of his brain pricking. When he aches, only a little, the stars pool around his chest, and he sees the light from his chest shining in the grass. Stars always make him feel lighter, bigger than himself, and he wonders how the stars would make Seungcheol feel. He knows that the stars make him feel more complete, more himself, give him a purpose when he feels the light energy vibrate through him. When he thinks about Seungcheol, when he allows himself to think about him on the walk home (and then that’s it, he is done), he prompts himself. If he had to rank them, which makes him feel more alive—the stars or Seungcheol? And he thinks about it for a while. It’s not an easy decision to come to, and that is what terrifies him into knocking on Seungcheol’s door and asking him, please, come into the city with me.

*

Seungcheol becomes like a star to Jisoo—not necessarily a fixed point, but always shining and by him, a way in which he sees everything, a filter, a sifting. The sand running through his fingers but always ending right where he needs it, not the gravity pinning the stars together, but the fire burning. Always moving and changing, yet always where he needs him.

Seungcheol takes him for a walk one night and holds his hand, and Jisoo lets him watch the stars swim in and out of him, while Seungcheol presses the pads of his fingers to the entry point, where stars flood and pool and gather, and Seungcheol is barely breathing, even though it’s not even close to the first time they’ve done it. He treats the transaction like church, in awe, cooing small noises that have Jisoo unable to focus, and it ends quicker than he was hoping, his body unreceptive, and his mind unfocused.

“Hm,” Seungcheol hums, grabbing Jisoo’s hand as soon as the heat leaves him. “That ended quicker than it has before.”

“You’re distracting me,” Jisoo laughs, squeezing Seungcheol’s hand and walking out of the separated enclave that gives him minimal cover, gives him a private corner to shine.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol apologizes, brushing Jisoo’s hair out of his eyes. “Will you show me again? I won’t be so involved next time, I promise.”

Jisoo smiles. “Are you dating me for me, or the stars?”

Seungcheol presses a kiss to Jisoo’s temple. “Jisoo, the stars chose you, and devoid of anything supernatural, so did I.”

Jisoo tucks deeper into the expanse of Seungcheol’s chest, and heat tickles his ribcage, the vestiges of plasma leaving his body and the excitement of Seungcheol and his warm touch entering.

*

It’s a second date, Jisoo says, buttoning up his coat. It’s cold and windy, and he’s always naturally tended towards a cold nature. He wants to be warm with Seungcheol. Seungcheol knocks at his door this time, and he feels something knock him over, spiritually, and he’s filled with warmth. Everything feels sunkissed at 8 o’clock at night.

"You ready?" Seungcheol asks, burrowing his hands in his pockets, and saying Jisoo looks nice. 

“Yeah,” Jisoo says, closing and locking the door. When they step outside the apartment, Seungcheol grabs his hand and Jisoo turns to smile. 

“Sorry,” Seungcheol offers, but Jisoo immediately shakes his head. 

“Don’t apologize.” Jisoo grabs his hand tighter. 

“Good,” Seungcheol says. “I’m always really cold, I’m sorry.”

“What are we supposed to do if we’re both cold all the time?”

“We’ll just hold on to each other and hope for the best.”

*

“In my defense, I am both a terrible planner and really bad at dating.”

Jisoo and Seungcheol end up at the park on a bench, both freezing and frigid.

“So, did you not think restaurants would be packed at 9 on a Friday night, or is your spontaneity and free-wheeling spirit something I’ll come to love and cherish about you?”

Jisoo doesn’t want to read into the future implications of Seungcheol’s words, but he does anyways. It’s cold, and Jisoo feels warmth rising to his cheeks thinking about months, not letting himself think about the connotation of years. He won’t let himself get carried away.

“I-I just really wanted to see you. I didn’t think about what we would be doing, or not be doing.”

Jisoo makes himself hold back a pout. Despite what he’s been told in his youth, it is really not very cute. Seungcheol hops up from the bench and extends his hand. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

Jisoo groans and stands to his feet, slowly. “Have I reached my quota of saying sorry for the night?”

Seungcheol nods. “Yes. No more. You’re forgiven only because you’re so sweet, but I’m cold and I want to hold your hand. Come walk with me.”

Jisoo contemplates telling him then, about the stars, because he thinks then he can be completely himself. He doesn’t have to worry about accidentally saying something, or running away, or not having answers for where he’s been or what he’s been doing. But it’s not the right time. It’s not far away from trees but it’s also not far away from humans either. He promises that he’ll tell him, and if Seungcheol notices that Jisoo is down, he laughs louder and is more ridiculously, only for him. The feeling passes, and Jisoo lives in the present moment, with a promise of later in his ears and hands.

*

Jisoo’s favorite place to kiss Seungcheol is at home, in private, where he’s the only one who gets to enjoy Seungcheol’s breathy noises, his thumb that comes up to rub at Jisoo’s already red cheek, when they have to break apart to stop giggling because Jisoo is just so happy. It’s hard to describe, but the languid kisses on his bed, the couch, against Jisoo’s terribly small kitchen island are his favorite. He can feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat quicken, and then slow, and then quicken again. It’s like this that Jisoo commits all the moments to memory, when granite is digging into his side, or he can hear the neighbors below him blasting bachata. When there are distractions all around, none of them are important enough to take over his mind because Seungcheol’s feather soft lips overpower all of it. There is background noise and then there is Seungcheol, there are his hands touching softly at his sides, there is his mouth talking softly, not quite at a whisper, but low enough to make a comforting vibration in Jisoo’s ears, and there are his eyes, closed, taking in every moment. Seungcheol’s long lashes whisp against Jisoo’s skin, and it’s a feeling he’s grown accustomed to, and would miss if he were deprived of it.  
There is a private Seungcheol that Jisoo loves, one that’s hidden, one that is softer and sweeter than any other version of Seungcheol he presents, even though Jisoo would be satisfied with any version of him.

Jisoo knows about versions. There’s a work Jisoo, a family Jisoo, a friend Jisoo, a Seungcheol Jisoo. He doesn’t feel like any of these would be unrecognizable to each other, if they could meet on the street. There are levels to them: of kindness, of giving, of patience. Seungcheol’s Jisoo is the most open and vulnerable Jisoo that exists.  
Jisoo’s Seungcheol, though, he doesn’t know if he’s more patient, or giving, or vulnerable, but he doesn’t think there’s any difference between all the Seungcheol’s, and he thinks if he could meet them all at the same time, he might be confused, if it weren’t for Jisoo’s Seungcheol giving the best kisses, and giving so much of everything inside him, of trusting and believing and extending his mind. When Seungcheol presses light, soft kisses to the inside of his arm, where his constellation tattoo rests, kissing every point, and after he’s done, falling asleep soon, Jisoo thinks he really doesn’t mind at all.

*

The first time he shows Seungcheol, he’s more scared than he’s ever been in his entire life. He’s shaking and sweating, and mumbling, and slurring his words. Seungcheol’s eyes are wide with worry.

“Is something wrong? Do you want to break up? If so, it’s okay. Like, it’s not okay, but I understand. Well, actually, I don’t. Everything between us has been really great and we’re having such a great time, and like, my mom loves you, but you don’t need to be scared of me. Do you want to brea-“

Jisoo shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, god, I just. I want to show you something, and I’m nervous and scared and I don’t want you to hate me, or think I’m weird, or anything like that.”

Seungcheol’s eyes are blown even wider. “I won’t…just tell me. I can handle it. I just hate seeing you like this.”

Jisoo shakes his head. “You’re not ready for it.”

Seungcheol smiles with his lips closed. “I’d love it if you could leave that for me to decide.”

Jisoo takes a deep breath, and breathes deep, extending his palms. Seungcheol doesn’t make a noise, and Jisoo closes his eyes to focus, sometimes he swears he can hear a soft hum. He feels a jolt, sees a flash of bright light behind his closed eyelids, and prepares himself for anything that could happen.

He touches the stars like fabric, and Seungcheol sucks in a breath. "How?" Seungcheol wonders. It’s less of a question and more of a statement of awe, and Jisoo is in love with the way he sounds when Jisoo's fingers glide over and above and through shimmery liquid fire. “I don’t know,” Jisoo says, and the stars taper off and influx, directly proportional to how Jisoo can’t focus because Seungcheol isn’t scared or weirded out, but mesmerized.

Jisoo knows Seungcheol is probably tempted to recite facts, just like he was: stars are burning, they're fire, no one can get close enough to touch them without loss of life, but right now he's more interested in the way Seungcheol looks when a star glides through the entirety of Jisoo's body, the space behind his oxford shirt on fire. He wonders if Seungcheol is on fire too, with the way he shines in Jisoo’s mind.

"You're safe" Jisoo deadpans, like he knows this is something to be feared. It might be.

"I know."

Jisoo smiles in the light of an ember, a dying star held in his hand, and when he presses around the dark space, it glows brighter.

"How do you know?" Jisoo asks.

Seungcheol kisses his wrist where stars shine under his forearm. They flit like fireflies and flames at the same time. It's a visual moving tattoo, illuminating. The lights gather  
around where Seungcheol's lips had pressed, chasing the taste. Jisoo blushes.

"I just do."

*  
The first time Jisoo kisses Seungcheol, he’s warm and Seungcheol’s eyes are glistening. The heat has been turned off in their apartment, and they’re wrapped in blankets in Seungcheol’s small living room, and Jisoo laughs into the silence.

“What?” Seungcheol asks, his mouth shivering.

“I was just thinking about how much I warm up whenever you’re around,” Jisoo says.

“So, you should be very warm right now. I’m right in front of you. You should be burning up.”

Jisoo shakes his head. “Kiss me, that might to do the trick.”

Seungcheol falters, stops shivering, and Jisoo wonders where it’s coming from, this confidence, when Seungcheol usually makes him shake in his boots, but he wants to taste his lips and be warm, and he’s taking his chance.

Seungcheol sits cross-legged in front of him, puts his palms on his legs, and leans forward. “What if this doesn’t warm you up? What will we do then?”

Jisoo grins. “Freeze to death trying.” He leans forward, and with his hand on Seungcheol’s neck, he pulls him in.


End file.
